The Machine Awakes (15 page)

Kodiak felt that ever-present anxiety bloom in his chest. Not just one Admiral dead,
two.
This had to be the beginning of something much larger, a conspiracy designed to unravel the Fleet in its entirety. And then the Spiders really would win, and it wouldn't just be the Southern Hemisphere burned away next time.

Kodiak closed the last report and stood, moving back to the ops board. He tapped the surface, bringing up an image of Zworykin's body, sprawling in the Fleet Admiral's office. Face up. Eyes open. Black circle in the forehead, blood draining out underneath him. The sniper's plasma bolt had been right on target, shattering the wall window as it passed through it and taking out the target with surgical precision. It had been the same with Sebela, at the Fleet Memorial. Ballistics evidence was scant at both scenes—the shooter had been an expert and had used a weapon appropriate to his level of skill—but even though the weapons report had been brief, the two men had been killed by the same gun, that much was clear.

Kodiak frowned, tapped the board again. Next to Zworykin's image appeared his predecessor, Sebela. In contrast to the crime scene photograph, Sebela's picture was an official Fleet portrait, the Fleet Admiral looking out into the bullpen in a three-quarter turn, a faint smile on his lips. There were plenty of images taken at the Fleet Memorial. Kodiak had reviewed them all, but right now he didn't feel the need to repeat the process.

Kodiak dragged the two images over to one side, dragged their corners until they were roughly the same size, then reached for the pen sitting on the small sill that ran along the base of the board. Underneath the pair of pictures, he wrote
SHADOW PROTOCOL
in fluorescent green capitals and underlined it.

“You think that's important somehow?”

Kodiak turned as Braben approached, holding two steaming cups of coffee. He held one out to Kodiak, then shifted his cup to the other hand and flexed his injured arm.

“How you feeling?”

Braben winked as he sipped his drink. “On the mend, my friend.” He pointed at the board with an index finger extended from the rim of his cup. “So…”

Kodiak shrugged. “Is it important? Yes. No. Maybe. Whatever the Shadow Protocol is, it was bad enough to freak out some very important people.”

Braben took another draw on his mug. “Enough for them to start knocking off Fleet Admirals?”

Kodiak tapped the board with the pen. “We can't discount it. Sebela announces the failure of a major project, one that's a big old secret. Zworykin uses that moment of weakness to move his people into position and take over command. Then they're both killed, one after the other. Could be a coincidence—”

“Or could be connected.”

“Right.”

Braben lowered himself onto the edge of the nearest desk. Kodiak watched his partner as he stared at the pictures on the ops board.

“At least this means it wasn't Zworykin.”

Kodiak frowned. “Unless something went wrong, the people he was working with deciding he was a liability as well.” He shrugged. “Maybe, I don't know.”

Braben reached forward to tap at the board, bringing up commands and scrolling menus. Soon, next to the pictures of the two victims, were displayed a dozen different items: a schematic map of the Fleet Memorial; photographs of the podium and tiered seating behind it from five different angles and distances; a schematic map of the Capitol Complex, and photographs of the exterior, including some taken from the rooftop opposite the Fleet Admiral's office, the shooter's likely position; a map of New Orem, a grid so tightly packed at this scale it looked more like a piece of abstract art than a map; lists of high-ranking Fleet officers and their photographs, some outlined in red—loyal to Zworykin—and some in blue—members of Sebela's inner circle.

Kodiak drained his coffee, wincing at the heat as he looked over the data. Everything they knew about the case was there in front of him. If only they could see the connections, start building a picture.

Then he tapped the schematic of the building opposite the Fleet Admiral's private office. “There's no way the shooter could gain access to the roof if they didn't have clearance.”

Braben nodded. “We're running through the security lists now, interviewing everybody who has access to that building, right down to the cleaning crews and maintenance. But we really need to look at the manifest, pronto. That'll be a big help.”

Kodiak glanced over Braben's shoulder. “Speaking of which,” he said, as Commander Avalon walked over. Her expression was dark. Kodiak braced himself, wondering what fresh batch of bad news she was bringing from the emergency meeting of the Fleet Command Council.

“Gentlemen,” she said.

“So, how did it go?” asked Kodiak.

Avalon pursed her lips. “As well as expected. With Zworykin and Sebela both dead, they've instituted emergency powers. Commander Hammerstein has been promoted to Admiral—he, Admiral Laverick, and Commandant Vaughn have formed a triumvirate to command the Fleet until the situation is resolved. It's out on the lightspeed link, but a public statement will be issued in an hour.”

Kodiak nodded. That was good, at least. The public needed reassurance, and fast—they needed to see the Fleet was handling the situation, that everything was, on the surface anyway, under some kind of control.

“That makes three new targets for the shooter,” said Braben, looking at Avalon. He gestured to the ops board. “We don't know who's behind this—their motives, even their means. We don't know what's coming next. This could be just the beginning.”

“That's true,” said the chief. “And for the moment, the triumvirate is being taken to more secure facilities under the Capitol Complex. Access is going to be very tight.”

“Okay,” said Kodiak. “Let's start looking at the Fleet manifest then.”

But Avalon shook her head. Kodiak looked at her, his eyes wide.

“What?”

“We don't have clearance yet.”

Kodiak's jaw flapped. He looked at Braben, who rolled his neck and turned to their commander.

“What do you mean, we don't have clearance?” he asked. “Manifest access is SOP. So why don't we have it now?”

“Because someone doesn't want us to have it,” said Kodiak.

The pair looked at him.

That clinched it. Something was going on, something in the Fleet Capitol Complex itself. Two Admirals removed. Maybe the start of something more.

Avalon sighed and folded her arms. “Dammit,” she said. “There's someone in authority, watching us.”

“Right,” said Braben. “They would have known the Bureau would investigate, so now they're running interference.”

The three of them stood in silence for a moment, the chaos of the bullpen swirling around them as Kodiak let that information sink in. How far did it go? Who was involved? Was it the Fleet, or did the tendrils of the conspiracy's network reach into the Bureau itself?

Now there was a comforting thought. Then again, that was part of the reason for bringing him back from Helprin's Gambit. Officially dead, with a clean new cover ID, anything he did would go under the radar.

Which gave Kodiak another idea.

He lowered his voice and pulled close to the other two, making sure his words were covered by the hubbub in the bullpen. “I have an idea.” He moved to the ops board and picked up the pen, then nodded at his colleagues to join him.

Avalon raised her eyebrows. “I'm listening.”

Kodiak smiled. “I'm not going to tell you.”

The chief blinked, and looked at Braben. Braben shrugged, his brow creased in confusion.

Kodiak waggled the pen at the chief. “Why did you bring me back from deep cover?”

“Because this is a red ball situation, Von,” said the chief. “You're a good agent. We need all hands on deck.”

“Right,” said Kodiak. “And, as a consequence of my current legal status, I can stay off the radar.”

Avalon nodded. “Yes. Mike has clearance to get you anywhere, but your cover ID is a blank slate. If anyone is looking for you, they won't find a thing.”

“Which is exactly what we need right now.”

A small grin started to creep up the chief's face. “Do what you need to do,” she said.

Kodiak matched her smile. He glanced at Braben. “You ready?”

Braben raised an eyebrow. “Me?”

“Yup. You heard the chief. You're my clearance. And I'm going to need that where we're going.”

Braben sighed. “Are you going to tell
me
what your grand idea is?”

Kodiak considered. He should tell him, at least. But … no, he was going to take a risk. He might be off the radar with his cover ID, but Braben wasn't. And if someone
was
watching the investigation, the closer he kept things to his chest, the better. At least for now.

“Sorry Mike, I can't. You just need to trust me.”

Braben's response was quick. “With my life, Von. You know that.”

Kodiak looked at the chief, who nodded. “Do what you need to do. Just report back when you have something, okay?”

“Yes, ma'am,” Kodiak said. He turned to Braben. “Ready?”

Braben sighed and gestured ahead of him.

“Lead the way, man.”

 

17

As he and Braben
made their way through the Capitol Complex, Kodiak considered that this was exactly the kind of thing his cover identity had been designed for. Special Agent Von Kodiak was officially dead. He was now Consultant Analyst Nico Amell. Operating on a temporary security clearance granted by Commander Avalon, he was, to anyone outside the Bureau, just an anonymous agent accompanying Braben, the real lead investigator. If anyone was watching, they wouldn't pay him much heed.

That was the theory, anyway.

With security on maximum alert, nearly every door in the Capitol between the Bureau and their destination required security clearance. For the purposes of the investigation, to ensure there were no delays, Braben had been granted level ten clearance—as high as Commander Avalon's herself. Kodiak—as Amell—was classed as Braben's assistant, meaning he could go wherever Braben went without requiring his own authorization. It was that very fact that had inspired Kodiak's plan.

As they walked, Braben had kept up a barrage of questions, but Kodiak had kept tight-lipped, much to the obvious frustration of his partner. Eventually Braben had given up, content apparently to walk in silence, fuming perhaps at Kodiak's lack of transparency.

But it was a deliberate decision. Cover ID or not, Kodiak didn't want any of the potential consequences of his plan piling back onto Braben. He'd take full responsibility—which meant the less Braben knew, the better.

And besides, he had Avalon's backing. Okay, so
she
didn't know what he was doing either. But she had given him carte blanche. He could do what he needed to do to keep the investigation moving, to get results.

Kodiak glanced at the map on his wrist computer as he led Braben on through the labyrinthine cluster of buildings that made up the Fleet Complex. The slight glitch in his plan was that he wasn't entirely sure where exactly they were going … but he had a fair idea of where to start looking.

The Complex was filled with marines. It was unsettling, a constant reminder of the dangerous situation the Fleet had been plunged into. Most times the marines just kept on marching, teams of three or four going to wherever they were going, or, as they stood guard at various key positions, ignoring the two agents as they went about their business. But sometimes those guards would watch, their elliptical, opaque helmets tracking Kodiak and Braben. It was an odd feeling, one Kodiak didn't like. He could see Braben was feeling it too, their journey in silence accompanied by a frisson of tension. Kodiak felt for him, but he stuck to his resolve. He would tell Braben what the plan was when he needed to, and not before.

After a half hour of walking corridors, taking elevators, passing through checkpoints, stopping and checking the map, changing direction, walking some more, Kodiak finally pulled up to a large double door at the end of a wide corridor. They were on the fourth level of this particular building, and aside from the marines on duty at the last checkpoint farther back down the passage, they were, for perhaps the first time, now alone.

If he'd read the map correctly, they were close, thought Kodiak. He glanced at the security panel next to the door and stood back, gesturing to it.

Braben nodded and pressed his palm to the chrome scanner. The red light next to the panel changed to green as it accepted his clearance.

Braben sighed. “You ready to tell me what we're doing yet?”

“Not yet,” said Kodiak. He stepped up to the door, which hissed open. He stepped through, Braben on his tail.

The corridor beyond the door was dark and narrow, and ended in just a few short meters in a high gallery that ran around the circumference of a huge, nearly spherical room. Below them were rows of consoles, manned by hundreds of uniformed staff, each wearing the peculiar, insect-like headsets that gave them their FlyEye nickname. The consoles gently curved from one side of the vast room to the other, all facing the giant display that occupied the wall to Kodiak and Braben's right. The display was holographic, but flat, two-dimensional, at least fifty meters tall and double that across. In the center was a projection map of the Earth, a great jagged red line demarcating the destroyed Southern Hemisphere, most of which was featureless. Around this map were others, showing the continents and topographies of a half dozen other worlds. There were star system schematics, quickspace network plots, and other diagrams Kodiak didn't recognize. The vast display was crawling with a mind-boggling amount of data, icons moving and text scrolling as the business of galactic war was managed.